


Runaway

by theinsandoutsofcastiel



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M, This may eventually become a Jaskier x Reader x Geralt fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinsandoutsofcastiel/pseuds/theinsandoutsofcastiel
Summary: The reader is a noble lady who is betrothed to a man she refuses to marry. On the night before her wedding, she decides to take matters into her own hands and run away from home. Destiny leads her to a small tavern where she meets a bard in need of help.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader, Jaskier/Reader
Comments: 26
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: No real pairing yet, but eventual Jaskier x Reader (or maybe even Jaskier x Reader x Geralt) if there’s any interest in future parts
> 
> Warnings: violence, mentions of blood

Running away from home the night before your wedding has never been part of how you thought your life would go. Destiny, however, seems to have different plans for you. Being of noble birth, your parents expect you to marry well. As a child, you didn’t have any qualms with this; but as you grew older and met the man you were to marry, you decided you couldn’t go through with it. He isn’t a good man, everyone can see. Even so, the marriage would be advantageous to your family, and that is what your parents care about. 

You begged your parents to break off the betrothal, but they refused. Your older brothers even spoke to your parents on your behalf, but it did little good. Perhaps out of naivety, you held out hope of your parents changing their minds; but that hope slowly faded as your wedding day drew nearer. You decided that it was time to take matters into your own hands and let destiny decide rather than your parents.

With the help of your brothers, you’ve procured some supplies, a sword, a bag of coin, and a fast horse named Chestnut. They help you to sneak out of your home without being detected and stay with you until you’ve reached the edge of town. Hugging them tight, you thank them for helping you and bid them farewell. They beg you to stay safe and wish you luck before sending you off.

Riding as fast as you can, you put as much distance between you and your home as possible before the sun rises. Once your parents are notified of your absence, they’ll send guards after you. You decide to leave things up to destiny now. If you’re caught and dragged home, then you were meant to marry the man who had been chosen for you; but if you manage to escape, well, who knows what destiny has in store?

You ride all through the night and through most of the day, taking breaks only when necessary. When the sun begins to set, you seek out an inn to spend the night in. Dismounting and leading your horse into a small town, you find a stable for Chestnut before seeking out lodgings for yourself. You find an inn called The Laughing Dog near the center of town. 

Pulling your hood up to hide your face, you enter the establishment. The sound of a lute and cheerful singing fills the air. Thankfully, all eyes are on the bard who leads the crowd in song. Feeling safe enough to spend the night here, you speak to the owner, rent a room, and leave most of your belongings there before heading back downstairs. You find a seat at an empty table in a dark corner at the back of the inn.

You order a bowl of stew and a pint of ale, enjoying the bard’s talent as you eat. As he sings, his blue eyes pan over the crowd and linger on you. Panic shoots through you. You look down quickly and pull your hood to better hide your face from him. This bard isn’t familiar to you, but if he knows about the runaway noble, he might just turn you in. Thankfully, he continues on with his song about a witcher that he claims to travel with. 

“Thank you, thank you!” the bard says cheerfully as his song comes to an end, “I’m afraid I must bid you all farewell." 

The crowd demands an encore, but the bard insists that he really must go. You can see it’s a tactic. He’s allowing the audience to believe they’re talking him into playing another song, though he planned on singing another anyway. When the bard finally gives in to the crowd, they cheer for him. 

"One last song,” he tells them, “But then I really must go!” He strums his lute and begins a new song, “Oh Fishmonger, oh fishmonger. Come quell your daughter’s hunger.”

As he sings, you allow yourself to look up. The bard has his eyes on you, smiling as your gaze meets his. You can’t help but return his smile when he gives you a wink. 

“To pull on my horn as it rises in the morn, for it’s naught but bad-” the bard continues to sing, but you can’t help but overhear the conversation going on at the table next to your own. 

"I know that song… and the bard singing it,” one of the men slurs, “I’m going to kill him!” The man nearly knocks his stool over as he stands and stomps toward the singer. The poor bard doesn’t stand a chance.

The man pushes the bard toward a side door of the inn, causing the bard to yelp and stumble, before grabbing the bard’s doublet and dragging him out into the alleyway. The crowd boos and hisses at the abrupt end to the song, but generally don’t seem to care about the welfare of tonight’s entertainment. You, on the other hand, care a great deal. Maybe the bard was on the run from something, just like you. If so, you’d want someone to help you if you were in his shoes. 

You quickly follow after the bard and his assailant. When you reach the alleyway, the bard is already kneeling on the ground, cradling his bloody right hand. His lute is smashed and blood drips from the corner of his mouth. The attacker looms over the poor bard, ready to strike with his knife. 

“Please, I can explain,” the bard tells his attacker as he curls up and makes himself as small as possible. 

“I already know what you did,” the man slurs before continuing to say something you can’t quite make out. 

“Leave him be,” you demand as you draw your sword. 

The attacker turns to look at you and raises a questioning eyebrow. “What are you, his protector?” the man laughs. He sways from side to side, clearly drunk.

“That’s up to you, if you walk away, I won’t have to protect him; but if you refuse, well, you’re going to regret it,” you warn as you push your hood down so it won’t get in your way as you fight. The man laughs again and it’s really starting to piss you off. 

“What are you going to do, girl?” the man questions. 

“I did warn you,” you say with a shrug. In one swift move, you lunge toward the attacker, avoid his blade, and land a shallow blow to his thigh. You don’t want to have to hurt him badly enough to get yourself into trouble, so you hope that this is enough to scare him off. Unfortunately it only makes him angry. He clumsily lunges at you in return and you easily parry his attack. 

You lazily defend yourself against his attacks. He’s had enough ale to make him sluggish and clumsy so his attacks are easily avoided. His mistakes allow you to land several more blows, each a little deeper than the last. The longer he fights, the slower and weaker he gets as he wears himself out. Maybe it’s the ale, or the blood loss, or sheer exhaustion, but whatever the cause, the man finally falls to his knees and passes out. He sinks to the ground and you check to make sure he still has a pulse. Thankfully you won’t have murder to add to your list of offences along with ‘runaway bride.’

Sheathing your sword, you turn your attention to the bard. He looks up at you with wide eyes full of wonderment. 

“Are you all right?” you ask as you kneel down in front of him. You cup his face, examining the bruise blooming on his cheek and his split lip.

“Who are you? Where are you from? Why did you save me? How did you learn to fight like that?” he asks in quick succession, never allowing you to answer. His interest in you is unsettling. You don’t want to give away your identity lest the bard return you to your family. 

“You’re bleeding,” you inform him, trying to get him to focus on his own wellbeing rather than on you, “If you come with me, I can patch you up.”

“All right, lead the way!” he agrees eagerly as if he’d follow you to the ends of the Earth. You help him from the ground, and grab his broken lute before leading him to the room you’d rented for the night. As you pass the owner of the inn, you alert him to the attacker lying on the ground outside. 

“I’m Jaskier,” the bard tells you as you usher him into your room and shut the door behind him, “I’m a bard; but of course you know that, you saw me perform! Thank you for saving me by the way … what did you say your name was again?" 

"Sit on the bed,” you instruct, blatantly ignoring his attempt to learn your identity.

“That’s rather forward, but if you insist,” he says with a grin before following your instructions. Even though he smiles, you can tell he’s in pain.

“Do you always talk this much, or are you just trying to ignore the pain?” you question as you set down the broken lute and grab your flask, a bowl, and your bag of medical supplies. 

“A bit of both I suppose,” Jaskier admits, “Though if you ask Geralt, I’m sure he’d say I never shut up. He doesn’t talk that much, so in comparison I guess he’s right.”

“So the song’s true then? You actually travel with a witcher?” you ask as you spread out your supplies and prepare to bandage the bard up. 

“Every last word,” he assures you. You smile, knowing bards have a tendency to exaggerate. 

“Okay, Jaskier, this might hurt,” you warn as you pour some alcohol from your flask onto a clean rag. Cupping his cheek in your hand, you tilt his head to just the right position and dab the cut on his lip with the damp cloth. Jaskier hisses as you clean away the blood and dirt from his face.

“Why did that man attack you?” you ask as a distraction.

“I might have slept with his wife,” Jaskier admits reluctantly, making you laugh.

“Well, maybe if he spent more time with her and less time getting drunk in inns and attacking bards, his wife wouldn’t have had to look for satisfaction elsewhere,” you respond with a smirk.

“My thinking exactly,” Jaskier agrees with a grin.

You turn to his hand next. Gently turning his hand so that it faces palm up, you examine the gash across his palm. 

“This is going to require stitches,” you inform him. 

“I can’t,” he protests, “How can I play if I’ve got stitches in my hand?”

“It’ll heal, I promise, and if you let me give you stitches, it might even heal faster,” you insist, “Do you trust me?”

“You did save my life,” he admits, “But you’ve so far neglected to tell me so much as your name, so I’m conflicted.”

“It’s safer if you don’t know who I am,” you tell him.

“Safer for you or for me?” he asks. 

“Me,” you answer honestly, “Now, I’m going to clean the wound. Take a swig of this.” Handing him your flask, you encourage him to take a drink. He does, making a face as the liquid burns his throat. Before he has a chance to recover, you hold his hand over the bowl and pour alcohol over it to clean the wound. 

“Ahh! A little warning next time!” Jaskier complains, trying and failing to pull his hand away from you. Allowing the alcohol to dry, you search through your medical supplies for a needle and some thread. Jaskier eyes the tools nervously, but allows you to continue your work. 

“I want you to bite down on this,” you tell him as you remove your leather belt and fold it in half. Jaskier does as asked, biting down on the leather and looking away as you get started on the stitches. The belt muffles his groans of pain as you draw the needle through the skin. You try to work as quickly as possible and before long, the work is done. 

“There, all finished,” you inform him, “I just need to wrap your hand and we’ll be done.”

Jaskier mumbles something unintelligible. When he realizes you can’t understand him, he removes the belt from his mouth and repeats his question, “How is it that you learned to fight like that and heal like this?” You’re reluctant to answer. “Please,” he begs, “The less you tell me, the more curious I become. I understand if you don’t want me to know your name, but please allow me some small piece of information about my savior. If you don’t tell me something, I’ll have to assume that you’re some sort of warrior gone rogue or an assassin who’s on a mission to kill a royal.”

“My brothers taught me to fight,” you finally concede, “And the healing came from my grandmother. I’m not very good at either skill, but it’s enough to get by.” Looking his hand over one last time, you examine your work before beginning to wrap his hand in clean gauze. 

“Seems to me that you’re better than just good enough to get by,” Jaskier corrects, “You’ve saved my life. Truly, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. How can I repay you?”

“Take time to heal and get yourself a new lute,” you answer, “It would be a shame if no one could hear you play your songs.”

“No, really,” he insists, “There must be some way I can thank you. I have coin, I could sing for you, you could travel with Geralt and me, I could write a song of your grace and courage!”

“No, none of that,” you tell him. Standing from the bed, you move to clean up your supplies. 

“A kiss then?” he offers with a tone of hope in his voice. The suggestion makes you smile to yourself. You neither accept nor refuse the offer.

Grabbing Jaskier’s broken lute along with a handful of herbs that will work as pain relievers, you bring them to Jaskier and encourage him to stand. The bard needs to leave before he tempts you into answering any more of his questions. You usher him into the hall but before you have the chance to close your door, he turns to ask you one last question. 

“Will I see you again tomorrow?” Jaskier asks, “You really must let me find a way to thank you for saving my life.” The air of hope is still in his tone. 

“Let’s leave it up to destiny,” you offer, “If destiny decides we should meet again, you can thank me for tonight. Until then, good night, Jaskier. Stay out of trouble.” Cupping his face in your hand, you lean in and press a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek.

“Good night, Fair Maiden,” Jaskier replies wistfully. You watch as he heads down the hall toward his room with confidence in his step. “We will meet again, I’m sure of it!” he shouts as he turns back toward you, continuing to walk backward down the hall.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: I’m def down for another part to runaway! AND I would love it if you continued your Jaskier fic, we need more Jaskier (and I wouldn’t complain if there was Jaskier x Reader x Geralt smut).
> 
> Summary: After spending two weeks on her own and still living on the run, the reader begins to wander what things would be like if she had taken Jaskier up on his offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence
> 
> A/N: I do not claim to be a poet, please forgive my poor attempt!

It’s been a fortnight since you’d run from home. In that time, you’ve traveled to more towns than you had ever seen in your life before; sampled everything from the best hand raised pie you’ve ever tasted down to a very questionable mead. You’ve changed your clothing in order to look less like a noble and invested in better supplies for your travels.

Even though you’ve found ways to blend in with the crowd, your parent’s guards still have ways of finding you. So far, you’ve fought and evaded all of the guards that you’ve run into; but your parents have begun offering your weight in gold to anyone who can bring you home safe and sound, so you know that others will come after you soon.

Knowing that you can fend for yourself and fight off trained guards is exhilarating, yet isolating. Lately, you’ve been wondering what things would have been like if you had taken Jaskier up on his offer instead of leaving before he had the chance to see you again. Where would you be right now? What sort of adventures would you have taken part in? Would Jaskier have tried to return you to your parents once he learned who you were, or would he have been a true friend? That hardly matters now though, given the fact that you can’t change the past.

In addition to everything else going on, your coin is running thin. Thanks to your run in with Jaskier, you’ve decided to earn your keep with your modest skills as a healer. Currently, you’re staying in yet another inn. The owners have provided you with room and board for the night in return for caring for their son. The young boy had fallen from his horse while learning to ride and broken his arm. 

After attending to the boy, you head back to the inn. The crowd has grown larger and rowdier since you’d arrive earlier in the day and it doesn’t take you long to realize why. As soon as you step into the inn, you hear his voice. It only takes a few notes to recognize him and his song about the witcher. You keep your head down and avoid looking at Jaskier as you walk to the bar to order a drink and meal. When the song ends, the crowd cheers and the bard thanks his audience. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Jaskier says as he takes a seat at the bar next to you. His sudden appearance makes you jump.

“I didn’t think you noticed me come in,” you say as you look up to meet his gaze. 

“How could I not notice my mysterious savior?” Jaskier asks with a beautiful smile. You smile to yourself and shake your head before taking a sip of your drink. 

“Your hand has healed nicely I see,” you comment, noticing the faint scar across the palm of his right hand. 

“Thanks to you,” he compliments. Looking down to his hand, he runs two fingers of his left hand along the scar. “I was afraid I’d never see you again,” Jaskier continues with a tone of sadness that surprises you, “I went to your room the morning after you saved me, but you were already gone.” 

“I had to move on to the next town,” you answer, “It was safer to be on my own.” 

“Safer for you or for me?” he asks, mimicking his words from the first time you’d met. 

“Me,” you answer, just like before. Trying to lighten the mood, you add, “You’d obviously be safer with me there to protect you.”

“I’m not going to fight you on that. Speaking of people who protect me, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Jaskier prompts as he stands and holds his hand out to you. 

“That really isn’t a good idea,” you decline. Jaskier pouts, giving you a pleading look. You really should know better, but Jaskier has this air about him that makes you want to trust him. “Fine,” you sigh, giving in, “Who is this person?”

“He’s a friend,” Jaskier assures. Standing, you grab your drink instead of his hand and encourage him to lead the way. 

"This is how people get led to their death,” you mumble under your breath. You keep one hand on the hilt of your sword just in case. 

Walking a few steps ahead of you, Jaskier leads you to a table where a man with silver-white hair sits. The man looks up from his dinner as Jaskier approaches and clears his throat. You’re instantly intrigued by the man’s golden eyes as he moves his gaze from Jaskier’s to meet yours.

“This, my fair maiden, is Geralt of Rivia, the famous witcher,” Jaskier announces with a flourish, “Geralt, this is … you know, it really would be easier to introduce you if I knew your name.”

“I tend to like making things difficult,” you remark, earning a smirk from the witcher. 

“Yes, well, please sit,” Jaskier invites, “Geralt, please keep our guest company whilst I finish my performance. Please try not to frighten her away with your lovely personality. And you, Fair Maiden, may order anything you like, on me.” He gives you a brilliant smile before heading off and demanding the attention of his audience once again. Just as Jaskier leaves, the innkeeper brings your meal. 

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” you ask Geralt. He replies with a grunt and a nod of his head toward the empty seat across the table from him. You take a seat and begin eating, hoping your presence doesn’t bother Geralt too much. He watches you as if he’s curious, but he doesn’t speak. Even with the way he watches you, you aren’t intimidated by him. You’ve never met a witcher before and you’re more interested than anything else. From what you’ve heard, witchers don’t tend to concern themselves with human affairs such as runaway brides, so you aren’t too concerned about him wanting to turn you in for the money.

“So Jaskier wasn’t lying, he really does travel with you,” you finally say, trying to start a conversation.

The white haired man grunts in affirmation before adding, “And I see he wasn’t lying about you either. If you really did save his life, I’m in your debt.”

“You don’t owe me anything; but why did he tell you about me?” you question, “There really isn’t much to tell.”

“And yet he’s been going on about you nonstop for two whole weeks,” Geralt tells you, “If you’re as good a fighter as he says, it’s a shame you didn’t take him up on his offer to travel with us. From what he says, you’d make a far better travel companion than he does.” You sigh, wondering what exactly the bard had told the witcher. “Jaskier is like a puppy,” Geralt says as explanation. 

“He follows at your heels and begs for scraps with those blue puppy dog eyes of his?” you question.

“That; and he falls in love with anyone who throws him a bone,” Geralt adds with a roll of his eyes. 

“So that explains why he’s written a whole song about you,” you comment, “It’s a love ballad.”

“Hmm,” is the only answer you get, but Geralt gives you a look as if to say ‘just wait.’ Geralt doesn’t talk much after that. He doesn’t ask questions or press you for answers, and you appreciate it. Though your mind is bubbling with questions of your own, you keep them to yourself out of respect for the witcher’s privacy.

As Jaskier finishes his song about the fishmonger’s daughter, he begins to speak. “Now, dear friends, I have time for one last ballad and this one is very, very special. I’ve never performed it before and you lucky few will be the first to hear it,” Jaskier says as an introduction to his ballad. The crowd quiets as the bard strums his lute, listening intently to the new song.

“Maiden fair, oh maiden fair

Y/e/c of eye and y/h/c of hair

She came to the aid of a bard in need

And brought him back to health with care”

Your eyes go wide as you realize the song is about you. “I specifically told him not to write a song about it,” you mutter. Geralt just gives you a look as if to say 'I told you so.’

“The bard was under attack you see

His attacker had brought him down to his knees

The fair maiden saw it wasn’t right 

So she drew her sword and started a fight

They parried and slashed

The attacker’s teeth gnashed

And in the end the villain was trashed”

“That’s not even what happened,” you complain, “The man was drunk and I basically just defended against his attacks until he passed out.”

“Maiden fair, oh maiden fair

Y/e/c of eye and y/h/c of hair

She came to the aid of a bard in need

And brought him back to health with care

Battered and broken and bruised 

The poor bard felt greatly confused

Why the maiden fair saw fit

To save a man who was such a twit

She offered her hand 

Helped the bard to stand 

And brought him to her lodgings grand”

You drop your head to your hands and groan in frustration. The witcher actually chuckles in amusement. 

“Maiden fair, oh maiden fair

Y/e/c of eye and y/h/c of hair

She came to the aid of a bard in need

And brought him back to health with care

She cleaned his wounds with gentle touch 

Though the bard did complain too much

She bandaged him up and bid him farewell

Her name she never dared to tell

I’ll see her again one day

At least I have hopes that I may

Though only destiny can truly say 

Maiden fair, oh maiden fair

Y/e/c of eye and y/h/c of hair

She came to the aid of a bard in need

And in his heart she’s left a tear”

Jaskier’s voice wavers on the last line. The crowd applauds as Jaskier’s song comes to an end and he takes a bow. 

“At least he was honest about all of the complaining,” you comment with a roll of your eyes. If the bard had to write a song, at least it was vague enough to not give you away your identity. Geralt smirks as Jaskier saunters back to your table and takes a seat beside him. 

“What are you smirking about?” Jaskier asks his companion. Geralt looks to you and raises his eyebrow. 

“I told you not to write a song about what happened,” you say with a sigh.

“Oh, you did?” Jaskier questions, “I must have forgotten. I was so inspired by you that I couldn’t help myself. It’s a lovely song though, don’t you think? The crowd seems to have liked it.”

“He never listens,” Geralt tells you, earning a look of offence from Jaskier.

“‘And in his heart she’s left a tear?’” you mimic his song, “Really? You only met me once and you don’t know anything about me.” 

“I thought it was poetic,” Jaskier explains himself. 

“Obviously she didn’t,” Geralt mutters. Jaskier gives his companion a look of annoyance before returning his attention to you.

“I only wanted to thank you for saving my life,” Jaskier says, downhearted, “If it upsets or offends you, I’ll never sing it again, I swear it.” 

“It didn’t offend me or upset me, exactly,” you admit, “I just didn’t think that what happened was worth writing a song about.” 

“I would be honored to write ballad upon ballad for you,” Jaskier gushes, “About your bravery and courage; your beauty and grace; your wit and intellect; everything.” Jaskier looks at you expectantly as if awaiting your permission to quite literally sing your praises. When you give him no answer, he continues to speak, “If you were to join Geralt and me on our journeys, I could get to know you better and write songs more suited to your taste.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” you say, looking to Geralt in order to gauge his reaction to Jaskier’s invitation. You’re tempted to say yes, but you want the witcher’s approval before accepting.

“As I said before, if Jaskier’s account of your fighting skill is true, you’d make a better traveling companion than him,” Geralt says in invitation. 

“Hey!” Jaskier protests. 

Your gaze shifts from Geralt’s golden gaze to Jaskier’s blue, pleading eyes. Biting your bottom lip, you try to act as if the decision is a difficult one. Living on the run has proven to be a lonely life; and though you’re not sure you can trust the two men infront of you just yet, you’re willing to take the chance. 

“Where are we headed?” you question. 

“We’ll see where the road takes us, in search of the next monster of course,” Jaskier answers, perking up instantly.

“We’ll meet by the stables in the morning,” Geralt adds. 

“Since you’ll be traveling with us,” Jaskier prompts, “it would be useful to know your name, lest I keep referring to you as my Maiden Fair.” 

You think about giving a fake name, but you decide against it. If these two turned out to be your friends, you don’t want to tell them later that you’d been lying to them all along. That also doesn’t mean that you need to divulge more information than necessary. 

“My name is Y/N,” you answer. 

“Y/N of …” Jaskier presses. 

“Nowhere, it’s just Y/N,” you reply. 

“Well, Y/N of Nowhere, it’s nice to finally know your name,” Jaskier says with one of his brilliant smiles. 

* * *

You wake early in the morning and find the innkeepers so that you can tell them how to continue caring for their son’s arm until he’s fully healed. Once you’ve finished your instructions, you head to the stable to make sure that Chestnut has been properly fed and watered before beginning your journey for the day. 

“Good morning, girl,” you greet Chestnut as you gather some hay for her breakfast. Standing before her, you rest your forehead against hers as you run a hand along her neck. “We’re going to go on a journey with some new friends,” you say, “I hope I’m making the right decision.”

The sound of footsteps behind you draws your attention. You expect to find Geralt or Jaskier; but before you can fully turn to greet the individual, there’s a pain in the back of your head and the world goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Looking forward to the next part of Runaway. Please don’t feel rushed I know you’re busy, but know that I’m excited! AND Hello! Will there be more parts to Runaway? I need to know what happens after that cliff hanger in the last part.

“She wouldn’t just leave,” Jaskier says as he walks beside Geralt and Roach. Jaskier had woken early and headed down to the stables to find Y/N and her horse already gone.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunts.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jaskier comments, “She left like this before, what’s to say she wouldn’t do it again? But this is different. The first time she said she said she would let destiny decide. Well, destiny brought us together for a second time and then she said she’d come with us; so where is she?” 

“Maybe she changed her mind,” Geralt comments, “She has the right to do so.”

“It just doesn’t feel right,” Jaskier presses, “I think we should look for her.” 

“There’s no point in looking for someone who doesn’t want to be found,” Geralt responds. 

“How do you know something didn’t go horribly wrong?” Jaskier asks, “The first time we met, she wouldn’t tell me her name and even last night she didn’t offer it until she’d decided to travel with us. She said it was safer for her if I didn’t know who she was and for her to be on her own. What if someone or something is hunting her down? What if it’s caught up to her and she’s out there right now, in need of rescue?”

Geralt grunts, but doesn’t change Roach’s pace or direction. Jaskier continues to walk alongside, clearly frustrated. 

“If it were me out there, would you just -” Jaskier begins, but his words trail off as he hears singing. Geralt brings Roach to a stop and turns toward the source of the song. It’s Y/N’s voice, neither man has any doubt about it. 

“Maiden fair, oh maiden fair! Y/E/C of eye and Y/H/C of hair! She came to the aid of a bard in need, and brought him back to -” her words turn into a blood curdling scream. Jaskier doesn’t hesitate to run toward the sound of the commotion.

“Fuck,” Geralt says under his breath before he rushes after Jaskier.

* * *

Your vision slowly comes back into focus. You have a splitting headache and it takes you a moment to realize that you’ve been gagged, your wrists are bound in your lap, and you’ve been tied up to a tree. Three men sit around a campfire a short distance away, all of them loud and boisterous. 

“I can’t believe it was that easy!” one of the men exclaims. 

“The way he was going on about the guards failing to bring her back, I thought she’d at least put up a fight,” the second adds. 

“I told you,” the third states, “All we had to do was get the jump on her. I bet those guards, with all their honor, never thought to knock her unconscious instead of dragging her home kicking and screaming!”

“When we saw her in the inn last night, I was afraid she might have hired that witcher to protect her,” the second man says. 

“If she did, she wasted her coin,” the first man laughs. 

“She’s waking up,” the third informs the other two. You blink hard, trying to shake the blurriness from your eyes as the men approach you.

“Apologies, My Lady,” the first man says mockingly, “I know this seems excessive, but we couldn’t have you fighting back, now could we? I’m going to take the gag out of your mouth now and if you’re a good girl, we’ll give you some food, deal?” 

You give the men a hard stare, refusing to give them an answer. The man removes the gag anyway and the cloth falls to hang around your neck. These men are mercenaries, unlike the guards your parents had sent in the past. Your parents must be getting desperate.

Two of the men return to their place by the fire. The third stays crouched beside you. He turns a knife over in his hands, making sure you get a good look and know who’s in control of this situation. 

“What are my parents offering you?” you question the man. 

“Your weight in gold. Ain’t worth it though,” the man says, “The baron you’re to marry, on the other hand, offered five times that amount. Now that’s a pretty sum. Plus, he don’t care if you’re beaten up a bit or missing a few pieces, so long as you’re returned mostly intact.”

You clench your jaw and try to focus despite your splitting headache. There’s no way you’re bartering your way out of this. You have no money to trade with and the men already have your horse and supplies. Twisting your wrists, you try to loosen the restraints, but find they won’t budge. All you do is manage to rub your wrists raw. 

“That amount of gold split three ways isn’t that much,” you say, trying to distract the man, “It’s a pity you have to share it with those two.” Maybe if you can get him to turn on his companions, you’d have a better chance of escaping. 

The man grunts, looking at his companions before looking to his knife. “True,” he admits, “But lugging you all the way back to Novigrad on my own would be a pain in my ass. Better to share the burden." 

Damn.

"I see splitting the money with one other person, but two?” you ask.

“I see what you’re trying to do. Stop talking before I put the gag back in your mouth." 

"What if I knew someone who would offer more money for me than what my betrothed is offering?” you query, hoping to buy more time. 

“Yeah, like who?” the man asks, “The witcher you were speaking to last night? Last I heard, hunting monsters doesn’t earn you a fortune.”

“He’s, uh, a bard, actually,” you offer. 

“What, the bard who was with the witcher? The one singing the dirty songs?” the man laughs, “I doubt he could pay for a decent meal, let alone a Lady’s ransom." 

"He’s really quite famous,” you continue.

“I really don’t care,” the man insists, “And I’m growing tired of your noise.”

“You heard his songs,” you state, “‘Toss a Coin to Your Witcher,’ 'The Fishmonger’s Daughter,’ perhaps since you were there last night, 'The Maiden Fair?’ It’s his newest song, his best by far if I say so myself." 

The man grunts in response. If you can’t get loose, then your best chance of escape is to attract the attention of someone close by. Maybe they’ll be kind enough to help you, but if not, maybe they’ll be greedy enough to fight these three men in an attempt at turning you in themselves. 

"I haven’t learned all of the words yet, but I think it goes like this,” you begin before raising your voice, “Maiden fair, oh maiden fair! Y/E/C of eye and Y/H/C of hair!”

“Shut up,” the man demands as he brandishes his knife, “I’m warning you.” He draws the knife across your right cheek, and you hiss at the sudden pain, but you don’t stop singing. Instead you get louder to the point where you’re practically shouting. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll start cutting things off,” the man warns, “I might start with your tongue.”

“She came to the aid of a bard in need, and brought him back to -” you continue, but your words descend into a scream as the man plunges his knife into your left thigh. 

“I told you to shut up,” he hisses as he withdraws the blade.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” one of the other men demands, “There’s no reward if she’s dead.”

“She’ll be fine once we cauterize the wound,” the man beside you says, “Maybe this’ll teach her a lesson.” Your eyes go wide and you gasp in pain as blood seeps from the wound and soaks your clothing. The blood continues to gush from the wound, so much so that you know it has to stop or you’ll die. You push your bound hands against your wound as hard as you can, trying in vain to keep the blood from seeping out.

“Get away from her!” a familiar voice shouts. The man beside you turns to look at the new arrival and immediately begins to laugh. 

“My Lady, it appears as though your savior has arrived,” the man who had spoken to you first informs you. The other two men only laugh harder. 

“I said; Get. Away. From. Her.” Jaskier repeats, more demanding this time. 

“Or what? You’ll sing us to death, Bard?” the man beside you mocks, “Move along or your ‘Fair Maiden’ here will die where she sits. Jaskier finally looks from the men to you, his eyes going wide as he realizes you’re losing blood and fast. 

In a wave of what you decide can only be either bravery or stupidity, the bard rushes forward toward the man beside you and pushes him to the ground. The other two men rush to help their companion, but by the time they make it to their feet, Geralt has already appeared behind them. He grabs them by the collars of their shirts and throws them back down to the ground. Upon seeing the witcher fighting his companions, the man Jaskier had pushed stumbles to his feet and runs for his life. All the while you feel yourself growing weaker and weaker, spots beginning to appear in your vision.

Jaskier scrambles to your side and adds pressure to the wound in your leg. “We’re here,” Jaskier assures you, “You’re going to be just fine. You’re safe now, I promise. Just tell me what to do.” 

“Tourniquet,” you mumble, “Above the wound.” Jaskier nods in understanding. Quickly removing his doublet, he tosses it to the side and picks up the knife your attacker had dropped in his haste to escape. You can hear the noises of fighting in the background, but you keep all of your attention on Jaskier because you find it easier to focus on him rather than the fast paced fight going on behind him. 

Jaskier uses the knife to cut a strip from the bottom of his under shirt. He tears the fabric from him before wrapping it around your leg and pulling it as tight as he can. Using a stick, he twists the fabric tighter and slows the flow of blood from your leg. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, feeling groggy. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jaskier says, “We still need to get you out of here.” You nod in agreement as Jaskier quickly begins cutting the bonds holding you to the tree. Your eyes feel heavy and your vision begins to fade in and out. “Stay with me,” he begs.

You can hear Jaskier talking to you, but it sounds distant. He lifts you from the ground and carries you with surprising ease. Then you hear him speak to Geralt and you’re being passed from the bard to the witcher, lifted higher. The pounding of hooves fills your ears, but it’s as if the sound is traveling through water to get to you. 

“You’re going to be alright,” is the last thing you hear the witcher say before the world goes black again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no real pairing yet, but eventual Jaskier x Reader x Geralt if there is any interest in future parts

You groan as you wake. Your head is still pounding and your thigh aches like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Both wrists are wrapped in cloth and both feel sore. As you become more and more aware of your surroundings, you find yourself lying in a hard bed covered carefully with rough sheets. Lying on your back, you can see the ceiling above you, old and leaky.

Turning your head to the side, you find Jaskier standing with his back to you fussing over some herbs laid out on a table. A cloth is thrown over his shoulder and he uses it to clean his hands now and again. He hums softly as he works. You watch for a long moment as he prepares a poultice for you. 

“Where are we?” you croak, your voice rough with disuse. Jaskier jumps in surprise, but recovers quickly. He turns on his heel with the finished poultice in hand.

“Geralt brought you to the nearest healer,” Jaskier explains, “The man’s a quack compared to you, but seeing as you were unconscious, you couldn’t very well heal yourself; so I suppose it was the best we could do given the circumstances. I apologize for the state of the living quarters, I had asked if we could move you to a more comfortable location, but the healer advised against it. I can’t imagine you’re very comfortable. A nice soft bed can work wonders for healing, I think.” 

“You talk too much, Jaskier,” you say groggily, your mind swimming. You try to push yourself up so that you can sit up straight and you hiss at the pain that shoots up your left leg. 

“So I’ve been told before and am likely to be told again,” Jaskier replies cheerfully, making you smile, “Take it slowly and don’t tear your stitches.” Jaskier fusses over you, making sure you’re comfortable before asking your permission to remove the blankets and replace the poultice on your leg. You give him permission and Jaskier gently lifts the blanket. He sits on the edge of your bed as he gets to work. His fingers just barely brush your skin as he works, but it’s enough that you can feel the calluses from his lute on the pads of his fingers. 

“How did you find me?” you ask him. 

“Destiny,” he answers simply with a dreamy smile. 

“This is the third time destiny has brought us together,” you muse, “Perhaps it’s a sign. Really though, how did you find me?”

“I woke up early, afraid you would leave again, and when I found you missing, I was heartbroken,” Jaskier admits, “Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that you hadn’t just run away and that something was wrong. Geralt and I finally headed out for the next town; but while we were on the road, we heard my song and your atrocious singing voice.”

“Hey!” you complain, earning a teasing smile from the blue eyed bard as he pulls the blankets up to cover you again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Jaskier laughs. Reaching up, he runs his thumb along the scar on your right cheek. Pulling his hand from you, he stands and returns to the table. You watch as he discards the old poultice before grabbing some salve, clean water, and fresh cloth.

“To be fair, I was trying to shout more than sing. I was more concerned with someone hearing me than sounding pretty,” you say before growing serious again, “Thank you, Jaskier.” 

“I’m only doing what the healer told me to do,” Jaskier shrugs off your thanks, “Speaking of which, may I see your wrists?” He sits on the edge of your bed again.

“I mean for saving my life,” you clarify as you hold your left wrist out to him.

“I didn’t do anything, it was all Geralt.”

Jaskier removes the wrapping from your wrist and gently cleans your wounded skin. His touch is feather light as he rewraps the wound and begins work on your right wrist.

“Really? Because I saw you draw the attention of three men with weapons before pushing one aside in order to save my life. If you hadn’t gotten there when you did and put that tourniquet on my leg, I don’t know what might have happened, but I certainly wouldn’t have been here right now.”

“Well, when you put it that way, it does sound pretty heroic,” Jaskier admits, making you smile. He actually blushes and looks away, making your smile widen. 

Reaching up, you cup his cheek and bring his gaze up to your own. Leaning in, you try to place a kiss to the bard’s lips, but he pulls away - much to your surprise. 

“Not yet,” Jaskier tells you. He takes your hand in his and moves your hand from his face.

“Why ‘not yet?’ You owed me a kiss,” you remind him, “And I figured I owe you one too.”

“As much as it pains me to refuse your advances, I fear I must,” Jaskier says dramatically, with a pout, “If you do chose to bestow a kiss upon me, I’d prefer if it were while you were completely in your right mind and not while you were full of whatever various herb the healer might have prescribed. Speaking of which, I was supposed to make you some tea when you woke.”

Jaskier leaves your side again and returns to the table covered in herbs. You watch closely as he picks several out and takes them to the fireplace. Carefully, he removes a pot of water from where it hung near the heat and adds the herbs, allowing them to steep. 

“Y/N, may I ask, what caused those men to treat you so cruelly?” Jaskier questions as he pours you a cup of tea and brings it to you. 

“My atrocious singing voice,” you quip, “It was a shame too; those were my favorite pair of trousers.”

“One of the men called you ‘My Lady.” Is it true? Are you royalty?”

“Can I trust you, Jaskier?” You ask with a heavy sigh as you take the cup of tea and blow on the hot liquid before taking a sip. You study his face as you do so and search his eyes, looking for any reason not to trust him. You don’t find one.

“Absolutely,” Jaskier promises eagerly, “Anything you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence. I won’t even tell Geralt if that’s what you want.”

“Geralt, can I trust him?” you question further.

“Beyond a shadow of a doubt,” Jaskier assures, “I trust him with my life.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s downstairs making sure no more mercenaries come looking for you,” Jaskier explains, “Shall I fetch him for you, Lady Y/N?”

“Don’t call me that,” you insist, “It’s just Y/N.”

* * * 

The tea Jaskier had made for you has taken the edge off and lessened your pain. You try to wait patiently as Jaskier heads down to find Geralt. It doesn’t take long for your patience to wear out, however. You set your empty cup on the table beside the bed and push the blanket back down to get a better look at your leg. Jaskier was right, the healer wasn’t the best. Your stitches look as if they were done with an unsteady hand and you would have used a finer thread. Even so, you’re thankful to still have your leg, let alone your life. 

The door finally opens, revealing Jaskier with a tray of food and drink in his hands, followed by Geralt. 

“I thought you might be hungry,” Jaskier says as a means of explaining his prolonged absence. Your empty stomach growls at the smell of food and you’re thankful for his foresight. He places the tray on your lap and pulls up a chair to your bedside, taking a seat. Geralt moves to your other side, choosing to stand a respectable distance away. 

“Geralt, I want to start by thanking you for saving my life,” you begin, “If there’s anything I can do or offer in repayment, please tell me.”

“No need to thank me,” he replies gruffly, “Most people don’t.”

“Thank you, Geralt,” you insist. You reach out and take his hand in yours, squeezing gently. Your action creates a look of surprise in the witcher’s golden eyes. Geralt doesn’t speak. Instead, he looks down at his hand in yours, blinks several times and looks back up at you, giving you a slight nod. You smile at the gesture and let his hand slip from your own. 

“Why did those men tie you up and make an attempt on your life?” Jaskier presses again. 

“You both risked your lives to save me, so I suppose I owe you an explanation,” you admit, “I’m nobility, or I was before I ran away. My parents are a Lord and Lady of Novigrad. They might disown me if I don’t return soon; they might have done it already.”

“You ran away from a life of luxury to live like this?” Jaskier summarizes, “May I ask why?”

“Love, or the lack of it to be more precise,” you answer, “My parents were going to sell me into a loveless marriage for their own gain and I couldn’t resign myself to that life, not without truly living first.” 

“Ah, a romantic with an adventurous spirit,” Jaskier muses, “I understand.” You can’t help but return his smile. 

You pick at your food as you continue your story, “With the help of my brothers, I planned an escape. I got a horse and some supplies. The night before my wedding day, I snuck out of my room and rode out. I don’t know how long it was before my parents figured out I was gone, but I can imagine their anger at having lost the chance at an advantageous alliance with a baron.

“The night I met Jaskier at the Laughing Dog had only been my second night on my own; but after that, the guards started catching up to me. Maybe they tracked me down or maybe they heard the story of some strange girl matching my description attacking a man in the street - it really doesn’t matter - all I know is that my parents were sending men out to catch me and bring me home.

“I dealt with them all as they came, either fighting them or finding a way to hide. Most of my parent’s hired guards aren’t that hard to fool. No one had ever actually caught me until those three mercenaries showed up and hit me over the head before dragging me out to the woods.”

“Those men would have killed you,” Geralt points out, “Why would your parents send people like that to find you if they want you back so badly?” 

“They weren’t hired by my parents,” you explain, “Apparently, the baron I’m betrothed to sent them after me. He’s offering five times my weight in gold for my return, safe or otherwise. According to those mercenaries, he doesn’t care if I’m returned without all my limbs and features, so long as I’m returned.”

“That’s horrid,” Jaskier exclaims, “No wonder you refused to marry a man like that.”

“So,” you continue, “Now that you know who I am, what are you going to do with me?”

“What do you mean?” Geralt asks. 

“Well, it isn’t as if I could run away,” you tell him, indicating your leg, “And I’ve told you that there’s someone out there offering five times my weight in gold. You could easily put me on a cart, haul me back to Novigrad, and turn me over for the coin.” 

“We could,” Geralt muses at the same time Jaskier promises, “Never!” Jaskier gasps in shock at Geralt’s words, but the witcher ignores him.

“However,” Geralt continues, “I’m a witcher. I earn my coin by hunting and killing monsters, not by returning runaway nobles to the people they ran from in the first place. You are no monster and I have no business turning you in for money.”

“Then will you leave me here to heal while you and Jaskier travel off to the next town in search of those monsters you hunt and kill?” you ask. Jaskier looks to Geralt as well, waiting for his answer along with you.

Geralt grunts before answering, “We agreed that you would join us on our travels. I’m not inclined to lose a decent traveling companion before we’ve even traveled together. Besides, there are plenty of monsters nearby for me to earn a modest wage. Take your time and heal, we’ll head to the next town when you’re ready.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: I saw that you said you might be turning your runaway fic into a Geralt/Reader/Jaskier fic if people are interested. I just wanted to let you know that I’m HELLA interested! If you feel like it, could you write a part to the story where maybe Geralt gets the reader in the bath with him and Jaskier walks in and sees it and gets super jealous? I know you’ve got the whole “not yet” thing going with Jaskier, but I think that maybe he’s waiting to kiss her because he actually loves her for real and not the in and out of love thing he usually feels for people. Maybe the reader gets a little flirty with both guys and it might spark a little rivalry before they all get together. Sorry this is so long and you absolutely don’t have to add this to the story if this is completely a different direction from where you wanted to go. I hope I’m not bothering you. Lots of love and stay safe during this whole covid mess my lovely healthcare worker/writer!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Nudity, jealous!Jaskier

True to their word, Geralt and Jaskier have stayed in town while they wait for you to fully recover. You’ve come to think of them both as friends in the time that has passed and you hope they think the same of you. You trust them more and more each day as you get to know them and you can’t wait until you’re healed enough to travel with them.

Thanks to Jaskier’s insistence, you’ve moved to a tavern. It isn’t much, but the bed is softer and the tub is larger. Plus Jaskier sings for the patrons downstairs every night and you can hear him from your room. 

Your wounds have been healing nicely thanks to the salves provided by the healer and your own concoction of sewant mushrooms and burdock, but you’re going to have a light scar on your cheek and a gruesome one on your thigh. Walking is still painful though, so you tend to stay in your room rather than venturing downstairs. 

Jaskier keeps you busy for most of the day, filling your time with songs and stories. Other times he composes new ballads while you busy yourself with other tasks. You pretend not to watch, but you can’t help but notice the way his fingers are covered in ink and the way his tongue peeks out as he writes. He hums and mutters the words to himself as he works out how the poem or song should go.

Geralt has been hunting as much as possible, earning a decent wage. He comes to visit you from time to time, usually once he’s finished a hunt. When he does visit, you get him to tell you all about his latest hunt. Though he tries his best to hide it, you can tell he’s getting restless. You know he isn’t used to staying in one place for long and he’s ready to get out of this town sooner rather than later. 

Tonight, Jaskier has drawn you a hot bath and added lavender to the water. You’re thankful to be taking an actual bath rather than the sponge baths you had been forced to take due to your stitches. Taking your arm over his shoulder, Jaskier helps you to the tub. He’ll be going downstairs to sing soon and you’re glad you’ll be able to soak in the tub and relax while you listen. 

“You don’t have to look away,” you tell him as you begin undressing, “It’s not like I’ve never been naked in front of someone before.” Your ladies in waiting had always helped you bathe and you’d gotten over your embarrassment long ago. Besides, Jaskier had been the one to help you with all of those sponge baths and you feel comfortable with him.

“I didn’t want to assume it was okay and intrude,” Jaskier tells you. 

“Really?” you laugh, “I’ve never met a bard who was afraid of intruding.” Jaskier takes the invitation to look at you as you undress and you don’t fail to notice the way his eyes linger here and there before he meets your gaze again.

“Who have you met?” Jaskier asks, “Essi Daven, perhaps? Please don’t tell me it was Valdo Marx.”

“I’ve met them both,” you answer, “Essi’s voice is divine and Valdo was good, though he tried a little too hard to gain my attention.”

"Did he succeed?” Jaskier questions through gritted teeth as he tries to hide what seems like jealousy. 

“He got my attention, but nothing more than that,” you answer, “I certainly never let him help me undress for a bath.” Jaskier smiles, almost proudly you’d say, as he helps you into the tub. You sink down into the water and sigh as the warmth envelops you. Jaskier kneels down beside the tub and folds his arms on the rim, resting his chin upon them. The light from the fireplace and from the candles strewn about the room dances across his face.

“Is there anything I can bring you before I go downstairs?” he asks, “I’ll bring you dinner when I’m done singing.”

“I think I’m good for now,” you tell him, “Though you still owe me that kiss.” Jaskier smiles and reaches out to brush your hair behind your ear. 

“Not yet, my Maiden Fair,” he tells you, much to your chagrin, “I’ll be back soon.” With that, Jaskier leaves your side, grabs his lute and doublet, and heads downstairs, shutting the door behind him. 

Not yet. It was always ‘not yet.’ You were beginning to wonder if the bard had changed his mind about you. He flirted with you shameless and yet when you asked him for a kiss, he always turned you down. It frustrated you to no end. From the stories Jaskier had told about himself, and from the ones Geralt had told about Jaskier, you’d gathered that the bard fell easily and quickly in and out of love. Had he fallen in and out of love with you so quickly that you never even got the chance to kiss him?

You close your eyes and rest your head back against the tub as you listen to the strumming of the lute downstairs. Jaskier makes it through a couple of songs before you hear footsteps approaching your door. It opens and you open your eyes to see Geralt stepping inside. His clothes are tattered and his skin is covered in a fine layer of sweat and dirt. His hair is streaked with dirt too. 

“You’re back early,” you comment excitedly as you sit up in the tub and rest your elbows on the edge. He had planned on his hunt taking five days, but it had only taken three. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to walk in on you like this,” he apologizes, “I should go.” Even as he says the words his eyes flick down to look at your breasts before looking back up to meet your gaze. 

“Or you could stay,” you offer, “You look like you need a bath more than I do." 

"I wouldn’t want to drive you out of your own tub,” he replies. 

“I don’t mind sharing.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at your offer and wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. 

“If you’re sure.” 

“I am.” 

Geralt makes his way to the tub, removing his clothing as he goes. You relax back as you watch him come closer. Finally, he stands next to the tub with his back to you as he unlaces his trousers. 

“Don’t I frighten you?” he asks. 

“No,” you answer, “Why should I be frightened? You saved my life and you haven’t turned me over to the people hunting me down.” You let your eyes linger on his scars, your gaze moving lower as he pushes down his trousers. 

“I’m a witcher,” he says simply as he turns around. Your cheeks flush and you look away, hoping he hadn’t noticed you staring. Though you’re comfortable with others seeing you undressed, your opportunities to see others this way had always been lacking.

The water rises as he steps into the tub across from you. You pull your knees up to your chest in order to make room for him. Once he’s settled down into the water, you let your gaze meet his. 

“So?”

“I’m a mutant … a monster. Most people flee at the sight of me, and very few invite me to bathe with them.” 

“I don’t see you that way, especially not after what you’ve done for me, and I don’t think Jaskier sees you that way either.” 

Geralt gives you a quizzical look and tilts his head to the side as if he can’t quite figure you out, but wants to try. 

“Has Jaskier been treating you well?” Geralt asks, changing the subject as he begins pouring water over himself to wash away the dirt.

“Very,” you answer, “but can I ask you something?” Geralt nods, indicating for you to go ahead. “As I’m sure he’s probably told you, the night I saved him, he offered me a kiss as thanks. I didn’t take him up on it then, but now when I mention it he tells me ‘not yet’ and either leaves or finds a reason why now isn’t a good time.” 

“Your question?” Geralt prompts. 

“You know him better than I do,” you sigh, “Do you know why he would turn me down?” 

“Jaskier isn’t the type to turn down the advances of a beautiful woman,” Geralt says. 

“So I’m not beautiful?” you question, causing his pale cheeks to flush. 

“No, I didn’t mean - I wasn’t trying to say that you aren’t beautiful, you are,” he actually stammers, “I only meant to say that it’s out of Jaskier’s character. Frankly he’s been acting odd ever since he met you. Since that night, I haven’t seen him take up with anyone and after he performs he always goes straight back to writing or comes here to see you.”

“Hmm,” you hum, thinking over what Geralt had told you. Despite what the witcher had said, you can’t get over the feeling that Jaskier isn’t actually interested in you. Finally, you decide to tease Geralt in order to break the silence, “So you do think I’m beautiful.” 

“Of course I do.” 

“And if I asked you for a kiss, what would your answer be?”

“Are you asking for a kiss as a means of thanking me for rescuing you, or are you asking out of pure want?”

“Would the reason affect your answer?” 

He smirks before answering, “I suppose it wouldn’t.” Geralt shifts and begins to close the distance between you. He reaches out, wet fingers brushing your cheek. Just as you’re about to lean forward and meet him in the middle, the door to your room is thrown open and Jaskier enters. His lute is strapped across his back and he carries a tray big enough to carry supper for two. The witcher and you both pull away from each other.

“That went horribly,” Jaskier announces, “Tonight’s audience was less than enthused with my music. Uncultured swine, the lot of them! Did you enjoy your ba- … oh, Geralt, I didn’t see you return.” 

The bard’s gaze moves between you and Geralt. Quickly, he sets down the food, hangs his lute on a hook by the door, grabs a cloth, and comes to the edge of the tub. 

“Time for you to eat, Y/N, I think you’ve spent long enough in the water and I wouldn’t want your lovely skin to wrinkle,” Jaskier says with a hint of jealousy in his tone. 

“Thank you, Jaskier,” you say as he offers you his hand and helps you from the tub. He wraps the cloth around you to hide you from Geralt’s view and you dry off before putting a new set of clothes on. Once you’re ready, Jaskier helps you to the small table by the fireplace and sets out the food he’s brought you. You don’t hesitate to start eating.

“So, Geralt, Y/N and I weren’t expecting you back for another day or two,” Jaskier begins as he sits across from you and begins eating his own meal, “Tell us about your hunt. Anything worth singing about?”

“Hardly,” Geralt answers as he stretches out in the tub, “It was just a wraith. I dealt with it in the usual way; dug up the body, pierced it with an aspen stake, cut off the head, placed the head between its legs, and set the whole thing on fire.“

“Lovely imagery, as always,” Jaskier says with a grimace. 

“How did you know where to dig for the corpse?” you question, curious and ready to learn.

“Guess work mostly,” he answers, “but unhallowed ground is usually the best place to start.”

“Have you taken another job yet?” Jaskier questions.

“He just got back,” you chide, “Give him some time to rest.” 

“I haven’t yet,” Geralt answers, “But it shouldn’t take long. This town seems to be plagued.”

“Hopefully I’ll be healed enough to ride soon and we won’t have to stay here much longer,” you offer.

“Don’t rush it,” Jaskier sighs, “The sooner we leave here, the sooner you’ll find out what Geralt’s life is really like; sleeping outside with little to eat, no soft beds and no roof over our heads, constant threat of danger and death.” 

“It can’t be all that bad,” you say, “Otherwise I doubt you’d continue to travel with him.” 

“I only continue to travel with him because he provides wonderful material for my work and because he’d be tragically lonely without me as his friend,” Jaskier responds, “but you’ll soon see what I mean, my Lady.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Can’t wait for the next part of Runaway! Keep up the good work 😊 AND Will there be more to Runaway? After that last part I need to know if the reader winds up with Geralt, Jask, or both!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language, nightmares, mentions of torture/blood (as part of the nightmare), general fluff after that

After what seems like ages, your leg finally feels well enough to travel. It’s just after dawn when you head down to the stables. You make sure to wait for Jaskier and Geralt this time, lest you be attacked again. Chestnut can sense your anxiety, though you try your best to hide it. You keep checking over your shoulder, making sure no one can sneak up on you. 

When everything is set and ready to go, you lead Chestnut out of the stable beside Geralt, who leads Roach. With some struggle, you pull yourself up into the saddle before steering Chestnut toward the road. Jaskier walks between Roach and Chestnut, already very talkative for it being so early.

“I hope the crowds are more cultured in the next town,” Jaskier comments, “I know you don’t want to return to Novigrad anytime soon, Y/N, but you must admit that the town is the center of culture and art. The people there have always appreciated my music. I wonder why your parents never hired me to play at one of their parties. I understand hiring Essi, but Valdo Marx? Really?”

“What do you have against poor Valdo?” you ask.

“Poor Valdo?” Jaskier scoffs, “Yes, I suppose he does deserve your pity. His musical talent is lacking and his lyrics are a fucking nightmare.”

“Ah, so he’s your rival,” you tease. 

“Precisely, though it’s hardly a contest worth competing in because I’m obviously better,” Jaskier proclaims. 

“Obviously,” you agree, with a teasing smirk. You won’t admit it and inflate his ego, but in your opinion, Jaskier does have the better voice and his songs are more entertaining.

“Maybe the reason you dislike him so much is because you’re jealous,” Geralt chimes in. 

Jaskier halts in his tracks, offended. “Now wait a minute,” Jaskier says, pointing at Geralt accusingly, “I am not, nor will I ever be, jealous of Valdo Marx’s lack of talent. If anything, he mocks me because he’s jealous of my natural abilities.” Jaskier jogs to catch up before falling into step between the horses again. 

“Jaskier, why don’t you have a horse?” you ask him in order to change the subject.

“They cost money,” he answers with a shrug. 

“And he spends everything he earns on alcohol and his fine clothes,” Geralt adds.

“Like you don’t,” you say in Jaskier’s defense, “Those clothes must cost a fortune, dyed black like that, and you need to repair or replace them after nearly every hunt.” Jaskier laughs, but Geralt seems less amused. 

“You must get tired traveling by foot. Would you like to ride with me, Jaskier?” you offer. Jaskier looks up at you and nods his head emphatically. 

“That would be lovely!” Jaskier responds.

You bring Chestnut to a stop and offer the bard your hand. Jaskier pulls himself up into the saddle and settles in behind you.

“Is this all right?” Jaskier questions as he slips his arms around your waist. You nod your head before clicking your tongue to get Chestnut walking again. 

Geralt’s golden eyes flick down to where Jaskier’s arms encircle your waist before he turns his attention back to the road ahead. For someone who’s supposed to lack emotion, you’re surprised by the jealousy that radiates from his expression. 

You’re beginning to feel bad about the situation. In all honesty, you’re developing feelings for these two men, each for different reasons. Despite Jaskier’s multiple rejections, his jealousy was clear the night he caught you in the tub with his friend; now the jealousy that emanates from Geralt is evident. No matter what you feel for each of them, or what they may feel for you in return, you don’t want to drive a wedge between the two friends. 

“Y/N is a much better traveling companion than you, Geralt,” Jaskier comments. Geralt grunts in response before spurring Roach to travel faster. 

Jaskier continues to talk, sing, and hum through your day of travel. You sing along with him now and again, much to Geralt’s annoyance. Jaskier finally quiets down toward the end of the day. By that time, he’s settled in closer to you and rested his chin on your shoulder. Geralt doesn’t seem to like it. 

“We should find a place to camp for the night,” Geralt announces. 

“Can’t we carry on to the next town?” Jaskier questions, “The sun won’t set for a while longer and surely it would be better to find an inn.”

“We won’t make it to the next town before the sun goes down,” Geralt replies, “We’re better off setting up camp and settling in for the night.”

“See,” Jaskier sighs, “It begins already; no bed, no roof.”

“We’ll survive,” you tell him, laughing at his dramatics.

“One can only hope,” Jaskier replies. You roll your eyes.

It isn’t long before Geralt spots a clearing up ahead. Reaching the clearing, you all dismount and tether your horses to a nearby tree. You begin to unpack your bed roll, but Geralt stops you. 

“Do you know how to start a fire?” he questions. 

“Not really,” you answer, a bit embarrassed, “I’ve done it before, but it was just trial and error along with beginner’s luck. We always had servants at home, so I never got to learn properly." 

"Then I’ll teach you,” Geralt says before telling Jaskier to finish unpacking the things you would all need for the night. Jaskier grumbles, but does as told. 

Geralt shows you the best materials to gather and how to stack them before showing you how to hold the flint and knife in order to scrape and strike the flint. When he hands the flint off to you, you don’t expect what happens next. The witcher moves to sit behind you, his hands holding yours so that he can better show you the motions. 

As much as you’re enjoying the feeling of Geralt’s arms around you and his chest pressed against your back, you can feel Jaskier’s gaze on the two of you. You know you need to address the subject soon, but you’re nervous about bringing it up and you aren’t quite sure whom to speak to first or if you should speak to them together.

“Once you’ve got enough shavings, strike the flint like this,” Geralt says as he shows you the motion, sending sparks flying. After a few tries, the starter material catches flame and Geralt shows you how to build the fire so that it will last. 

“Nicely done, Y/N,” Jaskier praises, ignoring his friend, “Do you know where you’d like to sleep? I have your bed roll, I can lay it out for you if you’d like.”

You thank him and look around before picking out a spot that looks decent. 

“Good choice,” Jaskier says, “I was actually eying that spot as well. Would you mind if I slept close by? The ground over here is very rocky and it seems much nicer by the spot you chose.”

“I don’t mind,” you answer, cheeks flushing as you notice the angry look Geralt is giving Jaskier. You’re not sure how much longer this can go on. 

After Geralt has cooked some food that you had packed, the three of you eat an awkward dinner. You watch them both over the flames of the campfire, wondering if you should say something. Was there anything you could say to ease the tension between the two or would your words only make things worse?

Thankfully, Jaskier finishes eating quickly and pulls out his lute and notebook. You try to relax and enjoy the new songs he’s working on.

When it’s finally time to turn in for the night, Jaskier settles in an arm’s length from you. Geralt stays at a distance, propping himself against a tree and crossing his arms across his chest before shutting his eyes. 

Try as you might to focus on the sounds of a nearby river, the crackle of the dying fire, and the crickets chirping, you can’t stop your mind from racing. As you shut your eyes your thoughts only seem to get louder. You want to find a way to tell them how you feel about each of them, but would they accept that? What if they forced you to choose one over the other? You aren’t sure you could. Are you willing to give them both up if they don’t accept the fact that you’re falling for both of them? Better that than ruin their friendship, but at the same time you’re terrified of the prospect of traveling on your own again after finding two people you trust.

Your thoughts keep you up for hours, but you finally drift off into a restless sleep; and when you do, a familiar scene returns. Three men wait by a fire. You’re tried to a tree. When the men realize you’re awake they come toward you with knives. 

This isn’t the way things happened. You try to scream, but you can’t. You try to sing like you did before, but no words pass your lips. You’re voiceless, powerless, and alone. One of the men plunges his knife into your thigh. Blood runs hot down your skin. 

You tell yourself to wake up, but it doesn’t work. The other men join in now, dragging their knives along your skin and driving them into you. They laugh as you thrash in pain, unable to fight back or even scream or call for help. 

“I’m here,” you hear a voice, Jaskier’s, say; but he isn’t. There’s no one here but you and your attackers.

“You’re safe,” Geralt adds; but you aren’t. You have no way to save yourself and there’s no one coming to save you.

Your attackers laugh louder, their knives digging deeper.

“It’s only a nightmare,” Geralt’s voice tells you.

“Y/N, please, wake up!” Jaskier begs.

“You’ll always be hunted,” one attacker tells you, the one who had run off into the woods after Jaskier had pushed him away from you. 

You wake with a start. You’re sitting up with arms wrapped around you and in your panic, you push them away. You breathe quickly and shallowly, sweat beaded on your brow. Tears are streaming down your cheeks. 

“You’re all right,” Geralt comforts you. He’s seated beside you and he reaches out to brush your hair behind your ear. 

“She clearly isn’t all right,” Jaskier hisses at Geralt before he softens his voice to address you, “What can I do?" 

"Stay with me,” you answer as you try to wipe away your tears. You take a deep breath in an attempt to ground yourself.

“Of course,” Jaskier says as he wraps you up in his arms and pulls you close. You snuggle in against him, fisting your hand into his shirt.

Geralt begins to push himself up from the ground, but you catch his wrist. 

“You too,” you add. Geralt grunts in response before settling back down. 

“What were you dreaming about?” Jaskier asks. 

“The men who attacked me,” you answer, “but it was worse.”

“Have you had this nightmare before?” Geralt questions. You shake your head no.

“See, I told you we should have found an inn,” Jaskier scolds, “Sleeping out here must’ve brought the memories back to the surface; but don’t worry, Darling, they can’t hurt you. With Geralt and me here, no one can lay a finger on you. Let me go grab our things so Geralt and I can sleep by your side for the rest of the night." 

Jaskier runs his thumb along your cheek and gives you a smile before pushing himself up from the ground. As he goes to gather his things along with Geralt’s, Geralt wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight. 

He doesn’t say a word, but you know he’s confirming Jaskier’s sentiments. You curl up against him, your cheek pressed against his chest and his chin resting atop your head.

Once Jaskier has the bed rolls beside one another, you lie down between the two men facing Jaskier with your back pressed to Geralt’s chest. Jaskier reaches up to brush your hair behind your ear and run his thumb along your cheek. You close your eyes and listen to him hum softly until you fall asleep, this time dreaming of sweeter things.


End file.
